


Remaking Tomorrow

by mydeira



Series: Remaking Tomorrow [1]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-14
Updated: 2012-01-14
Packaged: 2017-10-29 13:05:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/320220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Change the outcome of one event, change the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back to the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> For the record, I am of the belief the events of S1 did happen, unlike S2 of the show would have us believe. Meaning that Gwen and Owen really did have that affair, Tosh moved on from her crush on Owen, and Owen still has his balls.

“You know I’m all for kinky sex games, Ianto, but shooting me in the head—twice—really is extreme.”

Ianto’s lips curl slightly in a smirk that has become more automatic over the years. He stopped finding humor in anything a long time ago. But when the world is barely being held together by cellotape and luck, humor takes a backseat pretty quickly.

Jack rattles his handcuffs, the metal making a dull sound on the bed frame. “Ianto?”

Ignoring him, Ianto keys the last few commands in the computer before finally disconnecting Jack’s wrist strap from the terminal and putting it on.

“Ianto, what—why are you wearing a suit?”

“Because I used to wear suits all the time, Jack.” Ianto makes certain his tie is straight and smoothes out the lines of his jacket, glancing in the mirror one last time. The suit fits pretty well despite the weight he’s lost over the last few years. With the chaos of that day, no one will notice. Well, Jack might, but Ianto learned early on just how easy it is to distract him from the obvious.

“They’ve always…suited you.” Jack forces a laugh. “But that doesn’t explain why you shot me and took my vortex manipulator.”

“Oh, it does, if you bother to try to figure it out. You’re a smart man, Jack,” Ianto flips the strap open and types in all but the last code he needs to go back, “when you want to be.”

Charm finally gives way to the bastard underneath. “Don’t do it, Ianto. Whatever you are going back to change, don’t. It’s not worth it.”

“Yes, it really is. Especially since none of this will have happened.”

“It could turn out worse.”

“Maybe,” Ianto says softly as he finished the sequence, letting his finger hover over the button that will send him back. “But I seriously doubt it.”

“Ianto—”

Pressing the button, Ianto opens the time rift and steps through, leaving Jack and hell behind him.

***

Ianto stumbles out of the vortex and into a dusty, long disused section of Torchwood’s basement. He’d kept Lisa alive here all those months, a lifetime ago, but the area had been well on its way to forgotten again barely hours after she’d been discovered and eliminated. Coming from four years, three months, twelve days, and—he glanced at the strap—six hours in the future, the area only gives him a passing echo of sadness. Although he failed Lisa, he has learned from his mistakes. Always learn, always move forward, even when moving forward makes you go back.

He has a few chances to trade places with himself, but the best chance will be when Jack and Owen interrogate Copley’s assassin. Billy…Davis. Billy Davis. He needs to remember that, seeing as he and Gwen are bringing the man in—he consults Jack’s wrist strap—sooner than he likes. He could have gone back further, but more time would have meant more things to go wrong. And he can’t fail.

Quickly, Ianto winds his way through Torchwood’s dusty labyrinth. When he’d been caring for Lisa, he had attempted to clean things up down here, but eventually he had come to the conclusion that some places were fated to be disaster areas. He suspects that even when Torchwood was new, the basement area had been far from pristine.

The cell block is still empty by the time he reaches it. Save Janet.

Though he knows better, Ianto still draws up in front of her cage. When Captain John had set the Weevils free, Janet had stayed behind, a fact they hadn’t discovered until they were well into cleaning things up. She had just been sitting there, listless, staring out through the glass with the door wide open behind her, barely responding to any of them. It wasn’t until several months later that Gwen figured it out. Janet was in mourning. Jack had laughed it off and Ianto had gone along with it, because who Janet was supposedly mourning just hadn’t make sense.

“You were, though, weren’t you?” he says to Janet, who peers up at him curiously. “And Owen always swore up and down that you hated him.”

Now that Ianto thinks back, he realizes she started acting differently right after Owen’s first death. Different from the other Weevils and their awe at the “King of the Weevils”. She had become withdrawn even then.

“I’m sorry, Janet, I wish we’d realized sooner.” He touches the glass lightly, and she rises, unblinking as she steps close to the partition. “Though I don’t know what we could have done for you.”

Suddenly, Janet’s head whips toward the main entrance and she starts to growl. Company.

“It’s going to be all right,” he tells her and heads for his hiding spot. He can’t get caught now.

***

Ianto watches himself open Janet’s cell, chaining her up securely before letting her run toward Billy and scare the daylights out of him. He wonders if maybe Billy might have lived longer had they not tried to scare him. The adrenaline must have had an adverse effect on the Mayfly. Perhaps he’ll ask Owen if he gets a chance.

“Janet, come on.” His previous self tugs at the Weevil who is staring into the darkness where Ianto hides.

He should have avoided her cage. Weevils were smart, after all, and potentially time sensitive. Fortunately, Janet finally moves and events play out as Ianto remembers.

Slipping his gloves on, Ianto waits and waits until Owen attempts to use the singularity scalpel to save Billy. His previous self steps back, horrified, uncertain, and Ianto strikes, praying that the lack of skin to skin contact will offset the Blinovitch Limitation Effect. If it doesn’t, then none of this will matter anyway.

But he subdues himself with little trouble, injecting a sedative that should keep him under for the next twelve hours. Ianto knows he won’t need that long, but better safe than sorry.

He hears Jack swear. “Ianto!”

Ianto tosses his gloves away and emerges from the shadows just as Jack and Owen turn towards him. “I’m certain Tosh will be able to find Martha for us.” He eyes Billy and his blown out stomach with an odd feeling of kinship. “I believe we may be running low on tarpaulins again,” he says to them and heads upstairs to be stopped by Tosh and put Billy’s corpse to better use.

***

Time moves quickly after that, and soon they’re all gathered back at the SUV, Owen helping Martha towards them. The day is saved and everyone walks away in one piece, or so they think.

Ianto keeps an eye out for Copley, measuring time in seconds now. As Martha and Owen approach, Ianto takes a few more steps towards a new future and them.

“Figured out the scalpel finally, I see.”

Owen smirks. “It was just a matter of time.”

Martha elbows him playfully. “Jack threatening your kneecaps is good motivation, I suspect.”

“I wasn’t worried about my kneecaps, Dr. Jones.”

The two of them would be good for each other, Ianto decides. Maybe they’ll get a chance this time.

Speaking of time, Copley ruins the moment with his arrival, holding his gun that will kill someone tonight.

Owen moves in front of Martha and next to Ianto. He may act like a bastard most of the time, but deep down, Owen Harper is a good man. However, it’s the bastard Ianto has missed the most. Owen never was the same after his death.

Ianto’s eyes are glued to Copley, ignoring his and Owen’s words and watching for the moment of decision.

Right—

He shoves Owen aside and takes his place.

Ianto is lying on the ground, chest on fire in the aftermath, staring at the sky.

Owen blocks Ianto’s view, cursing under his breath as he tears at Ianto’s shirt to get at the wound.

Ianto weakly grabs his hand. “Don’t ruin it…more.” Fuck, this hurts.

“You’re an idiot, Ianto. Let—” He barely feels Owen tugging up his sleeve, finding Jack’s wrist strap. “What the hell did you do?”

Blinking, Ianto tries to clear his vision, but it’s slipping away. He thought there would be more time. “You weren’t…supposed to die. It was… wrong.”

“Martha, I’m losing him! Help me!”

It’s already too late. But if he did this right, it won’t matter. He’ll be waking up soon.  
 ****


	2. Double Vision

Ianto’s head throbbed in time with his heart. Opening his eyes, he immediately closed them again and groaned.

Owen’s gruff voice came from somewhere off to Ianto’s left. “About time you came around, Sleeping Beauty.”

“What happened?” Ianto asked. His tongue felt thick and heavy. Suddenly he sat up, eyes flying open despite the pain. “Martha! What about—”

“Easy.” Owen laid a surprisingly gentle hand on Ianto’s shoulder, urging him back down. “Martha’s fine and the Pharm’s out of business.”

The last thing Ianto remembered, Jack and Owen were questioning Billy and… “Someone grabbed me. Someone…” He frowned. It had all happened so quickly, but he’d seen his attacker, and who he had seen really didn’t make sense. “I attacked myself?” It had to be the drugs, because that was impossible, even by Torchwood’s standards.

“Yeah, you did,” Owen confirmed with a snort. “Apparently the only person you don’t intimidate is yourself.”

Ianto narrowed his eyes. “I’m not dying, am I? Because I think you just paid me a compliment.”

A dark look passed over Owen’s face. “You’re not. And don’t get used to it. Been a hell of a day and I had a weak moment.”

There was something going on. Ianto caught Owen’s arm as he started to move away, surprised when Owen gave a start. “What happened? Something happened, Owen.”

Owen tugged free. “Jack will debrief you later. The drugs running through your system still haven’t worn off. Sleep’s about all your good for right now, Ianto.”

Sleep was the last thing he wanted. Ianto swung his legs off the battered couch and sat up, the world taking a horrifying dive as a result. Bracing himself, he waited for the dizziness to pass before getting to his feet. He walked in the direction Owen had gone,, staying close to sturdy objects.

He finally made it to the main floor of the Hub and found almost everyone gathered in the autopsy bay. Tosh sat hunched over at her computer, typing like mad.

“He’s awake?” Jack asked.

“Yeah. Still pretty out of it, though,” Owen confirmed.

“Good. I want to know as much as possible before we bring him up to speed on this.”

Owen joined Martha by one of the computer terminals. “Any results yet?”

“Fingerprints are spot on. And DNA is just coming up…now.”

“Perfect match. Clone maybe?”

“Possible, but—”

“The wrist straps are identical,” Tosh called out. “And there is arton energy consistent with time travel. Extremely recent.”

Gwen joined her. “So that really is him, then?”

Tosh nodded. “I can’t say definitively without a few more tests, but based one what we have at the moment, I’d say that is Ianto.”

Ianto crept closer, trying to see more of the body on the table, but only the legs were visible, shoes slightly dusty and the trousers still neatly pressed. As they should be. What was the use of an alien tech based iron if your trousers wrinkled? He glanced down at his own attire. Identical. If what they were saying was true…

Ianto decided to blow his cover. “Have you dated the clothing fiber yet?”

Five heads snapped in his direction.

Owen moved first, charging up the stairs toward him. “I know I’m the last person you want to take orders from,, but I am a doctor. Your doctor. And I told you to stay on that couch.”

“Even more reason for me to be here.” He looked down at Jack, who perfectly blocked his view of the body’s face. “Considering the dead bodies I’ve disposed of for Torchwood, I think I can handle seeing what you’ve got there.”

“He’s going to see sooner or later, Jack,” Martha said gently.

Jack studied him for a moment, then nodded and stepped aside.

Ianto’s jaw didn’t drop, nor did he faint at the sight. But his heart did stop for the briefest of moments as he looked down at himself, laid out and pale. So still and so very dead. “How?”

No one answered. No one looked at him.

“How did I die?” he asked, louder this time, voice hollow in the open space.

Gwen took the initiative. “Copley had a gun and…Owen was trying to reason with him.”

Involuntarily, Ianto felt himself smile. Owen and reason, two words he’d never expected to hear together.

Gwen glared at him. “He’s not always such a wanker, Ianto. You know that.”

“Fine, Owen was reasoning with Copley.” He didn’t laugh. Barely. “Continue.”

“And Copley fired.”

To shut him up, probably.

“And you…I mean, the other you, you pushed Owen out of the way.”

“Bullet would have gone straight through my heart.” Owen’s voice was almost too quiet to hear. “Haven’t done an autopsy yet, but I’d wager it clipped yo—his ventricles. Not as poetic, yet every bit as deadly.”

He’d taken a bullet for Owen? Certainly, they had gotten past their animosity. When Jack was gone, they hadn’t had any choice. Which was good. Really. But Ianto still couldn’t see trading his life for Owen’s.

“I saved you.”

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re not him,” Owen said sharply.

“Yet.” It came out more bitter than he’d intended.

The muscles in Owen’s jaw clenched. “Fuck you, Ianto. I didn’t ask you to save me, did I? So piss off.” With a disgruntled noise, he stormed off toward the exit.

Ianto watched him go, feeling surprisingly guilty. The world tilted on its axis in more ways the one, and he gripped the railing for all he was worth. Owen didn’t like Ianto saving him any more than Ianto did, but there was something else. Underneath it all, Ianto had noticed a different emotion, back when he’d woken up. Relief. And maybe, just maybe, a hint of being glad that he was waking up at all.

“I saved Owen,” he mumbled before the world went black  
 ****


	3. Processing

Ianto sat in the autopsy bay, staring at himself. They had tried to convince him to go lay down, but he’d refused. He wanted to witness the autopsy of his future self and wouldn’t be deterred. After taking the juice Martha pressed upon him and promising Jack that he wouldn’t move from the chair he now sat in, they left him alone.

“No one suspected anything was up?” he asked Martha. Everyone else was busy elsewhere—Jack briefing UNIT, Tosh running more scans, and Gwen off in search of Owen.

“Not as far as I’ve seen. But I was out of commission for most of it myself.” Her cheer, though forced, felt natural, as if she’d had a lot of practice at keeping morale up while things went to hell.

The chaos had probably worked in his future self’s favor. Anyone who’d taken the time to look at the man would have seen there was something off. Ianto, being Ianto, had gone to great lengths to make the resemblance between them as close as possible, from every article of clothing to his very haircut and freshly manicured nails. But his future self was thinner, leaner, harder. It was around his eyes, and in them if anyone cared to look, he would bet. But people rarely did. Even Jack.

“Ianto? I really don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here while I conduct the autopsy.”

He smiled grimly at Martha. “No, it probably isn’t.”

“But you’re not going anywhere.”

Not even if it gave him nightmares for the rest of his life. Sad as it was, those nightmares would pale next to the ones he’d been having since Torchwood One was destroyed. It would make for a welcome change.

“It’s not every day that a man gets to watch his own autopsy.”

“On Corpusci Prime, it’s common practice.” She ducked her head sheepishly. “Sorry, bad habit.”

“From the Doctor?” he ventured.

“Yeah, drove me barmy when he’d do it. But I can’t seem to help myself sometimes.” She shrugged, fingering her surgical mask. “I suppose it’s a way of trying to keep it all real. Enough about me, though.” Fixing him with a stern look, she said, “One last chance, Ianto. You really shouldn’t watch this.”

“There are worse things.”

“Yes, there are.” Nodding, she slipped on her mask and picked up her scalpel. “Oh, and if you faint again, you can just lie there until I’m through. Got it?”

“Yes, marm.”

His stomach lurched a few times, but Ianto stayed upright and transfixed while Martha cut his other self open and brought his insides outside.

“Owen was right,” Martha sighed, pausing in her catalogue. “The bullet sheered right across the lower anterior of the ventricles, clipping the aorta before lodging in the spine. It’s no wondering you went so fast.”

The fact that she didn’t change the “you” to “he” told Ianto she was talking to herself. Owen frequently did that during his autopsies. Stopping, talking to himself and the corpse, absolutely fascinated by something he found. It seemed that all doctors, not just Owen, were odd like that. Or maybe just those that came to Torchwood.

While the autopsy and scans could answer the whats and hows, they would never say why he had come back and taken a bullet for Owen, of all people. Jack sure as hell wouldn’t have let him, regardless of his reason. Especially since his precious wrist strap was involved. Which meant rendering Jack unable to interfere. Kill him to subdue him, maybe tie him up for insurance. Drugging Jack was out of the question. He never did react quite like anyone else did, if at all. So he killed Jack and essentially himself to make sure Owen didn’t die.

“Save Owen, save the world.” He snorted.

Martha looked at him, concerned.

“I’m fine. Just picturing Owen as a cheerleader.”

Up went her eyebrows. “I really don’t want to know.”

“Blame the drugs.”

“Right.”

***

Owen was on his fourth shot of whiskey when Gwen pulled out the stool beside him at the bar.

“On a scale of one to ten, how freaked out are you right now?”

He considered his drink, but never for a moment considered lying to her. She saw right through him, just like he could see right through her. It was part of what had made their affair inevitable. Inevitable to begin, inevitable to end. And fucking amazing in between.

“Owen.”

“Eleven, creeping towards twelve.” Tipping back the whiskey, he swallowed, savoring the burn, then flagged the bartender down. “Another, and whatever the lady wants.”

Gwen just shook her head with a half smile. “I’ll take a glass and the rest of the bottle this idiot is determined to polish off.”

“You do that, ol’ Rhys is going to put you on the couch again.”

“Having finally met you, he’s become a lot more forgiving when it comes to these little drunken binges of yours.”

“Mine, right,” he scoffed. “You match me shot for shot, sweetheart. They’re every much your binges as mine.”

“Someone’s got to keep you company in your misery.” She grabbed up the bottle and her glass when the bartender returned. “And company requires a dark corner where neither of us risks serious damage by toppling off these bloody high stools.’

He followed her to the back of the bar. “I do love it when you get bossy.”

“How many of these have you had again?”

“Not that many.”

Rolling her eyes, Gwen sat and poured them each a shot, the diamond of her engagement ring winking in the dim light. It was an unmistakable reminder that there would never be any air quotes around the friendly of their friendly banter anymore.

“Ianto all right?” No point in beating around the bush.

“Giving stubborn a new definition.” She downed her shot, poured a second, then downed that, too. “He passed out not long after you left and admitted that perhaps you were right about how he shouldn’t be up yet.”

Owen paused with the glass at his lips. “Ianto said I was right?”

“Well…not in so many words.” Refilling her glass, she sighed. “When I left, he was arguing with Jack and Martha to watch the autopsy. Tosh shoved me out the door before I could find out who won.”

“Ianto.” Owen settled on sipping his fifth shot. “Definitely, Ianto. Twisted bastard.” Though, getting to see inside yourself, see what your heart and stomach and all really looked like…

“You’re jealous,” Gwen said as if reading his mind.

“I’m a doctor. Of course I am.”

Neither of them said much after that, drinking in silence.

Around his eighth shot, Owen wondered, “Shouldn’t the body have disappeared? If that Ianto is from the future and he did change something, then he wouldn’t have existed as such. But if he didn’t exist, then he wouldn’t be able to come back and…fucking hell. Give me aliens over time travel any day.”

“Maybe he’s from a parallel universe.” Gwen was on her sixth.

“Parallel universe? Please.”

“So aliens are real, time travel is possible, Jack can’t die, but, oh no, there’s no such thing as parallel universes?” She finished her whiskey. “Please yourself.”

“Every night.”

“Pig.”

“Always.” They clinked glasses.

They were heading for another one of those comfortable, alcohol-filled silences when Gwen spoke up, “He said something to you, didn’t he? That other Ianto.”

The whiskey tasted like shit suddenly. “Yeah, something about not ruining his shirt more. God forbid Ianto should get mussed even when he’s dying.”

“He said something else to you. I saw the look on your face, Owen.”

“He didn’t profess his eternal love for me, if that’s what you’re after,” he snapped.

Gwen didn’t even blink. She and Tosh both knew his bark was worse than his bite, but Tosh still reacted every time. Gwen just waited for him to get over himself.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “It’s been a hell of a day.”

Gwen waited.

“You’re not going to let this go.”

“No.”

Owen toyed with his glass. “‘You weren’t supposed to die. It was wrong.’ That’s what he said.” Staring past her for a moment, he added, “But you know what? I was ready to die. Copley wasn’t going to listen to reason, whoever it came from. I couldn’t let him hurt Martha, though. And I was okay with that. Ready.”

“Like when you walked into the Weevil cage at the club.”

“Sort of, yeah. If this is the way it’s going to end for me, okay then. Or does that sound as mad as I think?”

Gwen’s lips pursed. “Remember when I was dying in Suzie’s place? Now, I’m not saying I wanted to die, or was even ready to. But there came a point where it seemed inevitable and…yeah, I was okay with it. There was no point in being angry because, well, I don’t know.”

He caught her right hand and squeezed. “Exactly.”

It would be so easy tonight to cross that line back to being lovers again. And it would be amazing. It always would be between them. But he genuinely valued Gwen’s friendship now and wasn’t eager to lose it.

“Come on, one more drink each and we’re getting you home. See if we can save you some face with Rhys.”

Her smile was sad. “The couch isn’t that bad.”

“Yeah, but not as good as a bed.” Owen divided the whiskey equally between them, then held up his glass. “Here’s to making it through another day.”

And it was the first time in a long time that Owen felt like the luckiest damned bastard on earth.  
 ****


	4. Cold Storage

Ianto caught Jack as he left the morgue. “Did you have to put me next door to Suzie?”

“You were the one person here that Suzie genuinely liked,” Jack replied, humor lacing his words. “I think you’ll be fine.”

She had only liked him because she could blackmail him. But without her, his set up for Lisa wouldn’t have been half as good.

“I’d rather you moved me, Jack. Please.”

“Ianto, she’s dead. Forever dead. And you put the locks on her space yourself,” Jack reassured him. “Which makes her the safest former Torchwood employee to be stored next to.”

“We’re not lacking for space, yet. And I know for a fact the bodies aren’t stored chronologically.”

Jack’s face hardened. “The body stays where it is, Ianto. End of discussion.”

Ianto wanted to protest, even opened his mouth to push the issue further, but he stopped. He, better than anyone, knew just how far you could press Jack. And it wasn’t like Ianto couldn’t come down and move himself without anyone being the wiser. He was not going to spend eternity locked up next to Suzie Costello.

He jumped when something touched his shoulder. Jack’s hand. Eyes traveling from hand, up Jack’s arm, Ianto found Jack looking at him with concern.

“You should have been taken home hours ago. Come on.”

Yeah, he could use a few hours away from Torchwood.

***

Ianto dropped his keys on the end table, letting Jack take care of the door as he headed for his bedroom, undressing along the way. Tomorrow, he would toss these clothes into the incinerator. A shame, since the clothes were brand new, but he was never going to wear them again. However, the decision didn’t keep him from folding up each piece neatly before shoving it into a bag for disposal. Shorts, socks, and shoes went in as well.

Sealing the bag, Ianto headed into the bathroom to shower. He didn’t realize until halfway through his routine that Jack had not followed and joined him. Ianto wanted to be alone, but generally he had to tell Jack as much. On too many occasions he had let Jack join him regardless. Too often he found himself putting Jack’s needs over his own, a fact which bothered Ianto but which he also didn’t try to change.

Finished, Ianto switched the water off. Toweling dry, he slipped on his robe and headed out in search of Jack. He wasn’t in the bedroom or living room, but the kitchen. Ianto would have preferred Jack had joined him in the bathroom.

In the kitchen and cooking. Ianto counted to ten slowly, attempting to tamp down his irritation. Jack was as good a cook as he was a lover, that wasn’t the issue. The food smelled fantastic, an omelet complete with freshly chopped veg making Ianto’s stomach rumble in anticipation. What bothered Ianto was that Jack was in his kitchen without asking. The kitchen was Ianto’s sanctuary. It always had been. Even Lisa had had to ask before entering. And it was the one place that Ianto insisted Jack act like a normal person with boundaries and manners.

“You might as well have just jumped into the shower with me, Jack,” Ianto finally said.

Jack just shrugged. “It would have been much more fun for me.” He slid the omelet onto a plate and held it out to Ianto. “Not eating it is only going to hurt you, Ianto. You’ll figure out another way to get even.”

Yes, he would.

Ianto took the plate and retrieved a fork from the drawer, heading over to the dining table to eat while Jack washed up.

Eventually, Jack joined him, a large glass of water in hand as he took the seat opposite Ianto. “Gloves do come in pairs.”

Ianto finished chewing, swallowed, then looked at Jack. “Of course they do, and the answer is no.”

“I know where it is.”

Ianto liked having his body stored next to Suzie even less now. “No, Jack. Whatever my reasons were for coming back and saving Owen, it’s not worth using the other glove to find out. Nothing is worth the price of using another one of those gloves.”

“We know what to expect, how to deal with it.”

“Oh? Who’s to say this glove wouldn’t act differently?” Ianto cut off another piece of the omelet, chewing slowly. “Even if it does behave the same as the first, we shouldn’t be mucking about with death in the first place. The dead should remain dead.”

“Maybe, maybe not. We have a means of obtaining answers.”

Setting his fork down, Ianto shoved his plate away. “I’d rather not know. And seeing as that’s my body laying down there in the morgue, the answer is emphatically no.”

“Ianto—”

“No, Jack. If you go against my wishes on this…” Ianto cut himself off and stood. “Thank you for the omelet. Now, when you’re finished cleaning up, please let yourself out. I shall see you in the morning.”

Not waiting for a response, Ianto headed to his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Jack might let the matter rest for now, but he would try to use the glove eventually. Ianto would just have to get a hold of it first.

He dropped heavily on the bed, exhausted. But he’d deal with that later.


	5. Of Pairs

Copley fires the gun between one blink in the next, but they all stand there frozen until Owen drops to the ground.

Ianto can’t move, can barely breathe, watching as Martha works furiously to buy Owen time. Jack tells him to hang on, tries to hold him there. But Owen is gone before the reality of the gunshot has a chance to sink in.

Ianto swears he can feel Gwen’s heart breaking silently beside him in time with Tosh’s bitter sobs. But all Ianto can do is stand there with cold certainty settling over him. Owen Harper is dead. The hard-headed bastard who had spat in the eye of worse odds and walked away damaged but alive now lays unmoving, staring sightlessly at the night above him. Owen is undeniably dead. But he shouldn’t be. Ianto knows that someone had to die tonight, but it shouldn’t have been Owen.

***

Owen sat up, gasping, right hand settling over his thudding heart. The skin felt smooth, unblemished, and vibrated with the terrified muscle beating beneath.

It had been too real, Copley giving him the ultimate fuck you by firing the gun, hot metal slamming unforgivingly through skin and bone and tissue, stealing Owen’s voice, stopping his heart.

Tossing back the covers, Owen made his way unsteadily to the bathroom, the remnants of one too many whiskeys making the world dip and sway around him. He closed his eyes tight before switching on the light, leaning heavily against the door jam and blinking against the glare.

“Gwen bloody Cooper and one more for a road. Should have learned by now that the woman has an unnatural tolerance for alcohol,” he grumbled, edging toward the sink. Gwen would be doubly perky in the morning, overcompensating for her hangover. There were days he really hated her.

He splashed his face with water and peered into the mirror. God, he looked like death warmed over. Stomach clenching, Owen had just enough time to get the lid on the toilet up before losing what little remained of his drinking binge.

The dream had been too fucking real. It wasn’t the first time he had died in a dream, and it wouldn’t be the last. It sure as hell wasn’t the first nightmare he’d had after a bad day at Torchwood, or the first time that he had come thisclose to really dying. But if Ianto hadn’t shoved him out of the way…

Of all the people to come back and save, Ianto came back and took a bullet for his sorry ass.

“What the fuck were you thinking, Ianto?”

Owen sat there against the cold tile for too long before deciding that sleep wasn’t an option. He might as well shower, head in to work, and see what Martha found out from the autopsy.

***

“You look like hell, Owen.”

“And good morning to you, too, Jack.” Owen dropped heavily in his chair and started up his computer. “Or is it still evening?”

Jack shrugged, sipped whatever was in his mug, and continued to watch the monitor. “Close enough.” He was quiet for a moment. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“What was your first clue?”

Jack gave him a level look, meaning he wasn’t in the mood for Owen’s attitude. “My coffee may be substandard, but there’s a fresh pot in the kitchen.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

Caffeine would at least take the edge off. “You did use the spare coffee maker?” The last time Jack had used Ianto’s precious machine, well, it hadn’t been pretty.

Jack snorted. “I doubt Ianto could be any more angry with me at the moment, but yes, I did.”

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Get your damned coffee, Owen.”

“Aye, Captain.” Snapping off a half-assed salute, Owen headed for the kitchen.

He downed half a cup of coffee that brought back all too vivid memories of his residency, topped the mug off, then headed back down to find Jack mucking about with the Rift monitor. Leaving him to it, Owen pulled up Martha’s report.

“And you owe me a drink, Dr. Martha Jones,” he said after reading about the internal damage the bullet had caused. Though being right didn’t bring him the pleasure it usually did. Maybe it was the alcohol. Too soon. It certainly wasn’t the fact that he’d watched one of his colleagues die only to find out later that said colleague hadn’t really died. “Fucking time travel.”

“You say something?” Jack asked.

“When I’m talking to you, I’ll use your name.”

“So you’re in one of those moods, are you?”

“Shut it, Jack.” Owen scrolled through the rest of the report. He had to read the location of the body three times before it made sense. “You wanker. It’s not like we’re hurting for space down there!”

“That’s what Ianto said.”

“By Suzie? Jack, even you can’t be that big of a bastard.” But Jack didn’t say anything. “Why, Jack?”

“I have my reasons.”

“Oh, well, that’s just fine, then, isn’t it? Never mind that Ianto had to see himself dead, but you’ve locked his body up next to the last person he wants to be near.”

“Funny, I always thought that was you.”

“Second to Suzie.”

After a moment, Jack said, “There’s a way to find out, you know. Why he did it.”

The specter of Suzie Costello. “We destroyed the glove. For a very good reason, if you’ll recall.”

“Gloves come in pairs.”

Owen spun towards Jack, eyes narrowed. “Again, we destroyed Suzie’s glove for a damned good reason. If there’s another one, then it should be destroyed as well.”

“So you’re fine not knowing?”

“If that’s the only way, then, yeah, I really am.” Suzie’s goddamned glove that had nearly killed Gwen, and had started to take hold of her much like it had Suzie. “It’s not worth it.” He looked at Jack, really looked at him. “What’s with you. Jack? You hated that glove more than any of us. In fact, I seem to remember you and Suzie going several rounds over whether or not to destroy it after we found it. You being for the destruction.”

“Things change.”

That made Owen laugh. “Do they really? You going to start telling us what the future holds, then?”

Jack sighed. “It just doesn’t make any sense.”

Owen couldn’t decide whether he was hurt by that or not. “No. But it never does.” Then he asked, “How’s Ianto doing?”

“You know Ianto, he’s fine.”

“Until he can’t pretend otherwise.”

Jack glanced up at him in surprise.

“Don’t worry, the world’s not ending. It’s just how we all are.” He snorted. “Contrary to my first opinion, Ianto’s every bit as human as the rest of us. Well, most of us.”

“Thanks,” Jack said dryly.

“You’re welcome.”

“How are you doing?”

“Me? I’m fine until I’m not.” Owen turned back to his computer and his coffee. That was more than enough conversation for one morning. And the sun wasn’t even up yet. He groaned.

“Owen?”

“Nothing, Jack. It’s just going to be a long fucking day.”  
 ****


	6. Unexpected Gratitude

Owen wore the look of a man running on too little sleep and too much caffeine.

Ianto grabbed his mug without a word as he passed, not even needing to glance to know it was the pre-ground coffee for the back-up coffeemaker. If Owen was going to subsist on caffeine, the least Ianto could do was make certain it was from decent coffee. Ianto wouldn’t wish bad coffee on his worst enemy, of which Owen used to not be far off.

Ten minutes later, he returned Owen’s mug to him. “It’s still no replacement for sleep.”

Owen took a gulp of the coffee. The reason it had taken ten minutes and not five for Ianto to return. Put coffee near Owen Harper, and what little common sense he had would go out the window. Though gulping fine coffee was tantamount to a sin, Ianto got fed up with Owen’s bitching about being scalded every morning. So he brought Owen coffee at gulpable temperature.

Finishing off the coffee with a obscene groan, Owen held out his mug. “Last I checked, you weren’t the Jones with the medical degree.”

“Are you certain about that?”

Owen stared at him, bloodshot eyes intense while he tried to see through Ianto. Ianto just stood there, impassive, waiting for Owen to cave. He always did. It was why they’d only played poker together once. Owen was an easy read and couldn’t stand that Ianto never gave anything away.

Not answering, Owen shook his empty mug. “If you’d be so kind.”

“I think you’ve had too much. That almost sounded like a please.” But Ianto took the mug. A caffeinated Owen was a slightly more tolerable Owen.

He was halfway up the stairs when Owen called out to him, “Couldn’t sleep either, could you?”

Standing by and watching while Owen bled out on the pavement… Ianto would have much preferred dreaming about his own autopsy. “What was your first clue?”

“Well, if you were ever anything but impeccable, I’d say you looked like hell. But you don’t, so I can’t. However,” Owen drawled, “seeing as it’s five in the morning and you’re impeccably dressed, I think it’s safe to assume you couldn’t sleep.”

“I probably got more than you.”

“Yeah, you probably did.” And with that, Owen went back to playing solitaire while Ianto continued on to the kitchen.

***

Tosh and Martha rolled in just after seven, Martha’s bags in tow.

Ianto took the luggage from them. “Leaving so soon?”

“I think UNIT’s afraid that if they don’t get me back now, I’ll never leave.”

Tosh smiled. “Gwen and I certainly wouldn’t mind. It’s nice not being outnumbered for a change.”

“You haven’t been outnumbered for awhile, Tosh,” Ianto pointed out. “We stopped counting Owen in the Himalayas, remember?”

“Oi!” Owen protested, spinning towards them. “You were bitching about the cold just as much by the end of the week.”

“By the end of the week,” Ianto emphasized. “I seem to recall you starting before we’d boarded the plane.”

“Yeah, well, you still complained.”

Tosh sighed. “We were all complaining by the end of the week. A wild goose chase though the mountains, in a blizzard.” She shivered. “If I ever see snow again it’ll be too soon.”

“That was Harold Saxon’s doing, yeah?” Martha sounded oddly strained.

“First time we ever got an assignment direct from the top. Generally outside the government and all that.” Owen wandered over to their group. “But with our glorious leader off chasing mysterious police boxes, when the PM said jump, we jumped. Lucky we didn’t get frostbite out of it.”

“It wasn’t that bad, Owen,” Ianto said. “He exaggerates.”

“A lot,” Tosh added.

Martha gave them a wan smile, then brightened up when she spotted Jack. “I need to go chat to the boss. Thanks again for letting me crash at your place, Tosh. Can’t stand hotels.”

Ianto waited until Martha was out of earshot. “Did you get a chance to talk to her?”

“What’s this now?” Owen looked like Christmas had come early.

“Sorry to disappoint, Ianto, but there was never a good chance to ask,” Tosh apologized. “Though, I have a feeling she’d be about as forthcoming as Jack about whatever they went through.”

“Thanks for trying.”

“We did get on really well. I wouldn’t be surprised if we kept in touch,” she offered.

Owen slung an arm around her shoulder, “When you say ‘really well’, do you mean really well?”

She shook her head, lips curled in a half-smile. “You never change, Owen. But if you did, I’d worry.” Kissing his cheek, she disentangled herself and headed for her desk.

“They would be gorgeous together, wouldn’t they?”

“Tosh is right, if you changed, we’d worry.”

“I never said thank you this morning. For the coffee.”

Ianto looked at Owen. “You never say thank you. Any morning. Or ever, for that matter.”

“Well, this is me saying thank you. One more cup of Jack’s coffee and who knows what would have happened.” Without another word, Owen walked away.

That was just…weird. Ianto knew his coffee was that good, but still…  
 ****


	7. I Dream of Caffeine

Life at Torchwood returned to normal after Martha left, or what constituted normal for them. Well, almost normal. Somewhere along the way, Owen had picked up a grain of human decency and, on a near regular basis, thanked Ianto for bringing him coffee. One time had been weird. But the next day Owen had done it again, and afterward it occurred more and more often. It was extremely disconcerting.

Even more so following the dream he’d had about teaching a dead Owen how to make coffee, which was wrong on too many levels.

“Besides, zombies can’t make coffee.”

“No, they usually prefer brains.”

Only years of practice kept Ianto from showing his surprise at Owen’s sudden presence. Most days the bastard couldn’t sneak up on a brick wall if he tried. Owen wasn’t a man to go quietly into the night. Or the day. Or…

“You know, I had the strangest dream the other night,” Owen said conversationally, sipping his coffee. Thank yous, conversation, and sipping his coffee… Ianto thought that just maybe he’d fallen into the Twilight Zone, though life at Torchwood was the Twilight Zone. “Ianto?”

“Strangest dream? Did Martha and Tosh finally invite you to join them?”

“No, that would be a bloody fantastic dream.”

“All depends on one’s perspective,” Ianto replied dryly.

“Ha ha.” Owen rolled his eyes. “Do you want to hear my dream or not?”

“Seeing as you’re going to tell me regardless, you might as well just go ahead.” Ianto paid more attention to cleaning the coffee machine than was strictly necessary.

“I think it would be a nightmare for you. Believe it or not, you were teaching me how to work this precious machine of yours.”

Ianto kept cleaning. “Yes, that would be a nightmare.” Damn, how had he let this get so dirty?

“You were actually patient with me. Frightening, I know,” Owen chuckled. “But it was a lost cause. Couldn’t make a decent cuppa to save my life. As I was already dead, I suppose it was a moot point.”

Breathe in, breathe out. Ianto spoke evenly, “So I guess that proves that zombies can’t make coffee.”

“Thought you might appreciate it.” Owen saluted Ianto with his mug, then walked off. “Fantastic as always, Ianto.”

Similar dreams. It was a coincidence, nothing more. Nothing more.

Ianto ignored the voice in his head that tried to point out that, following the return from the Himalayas, the team had shared nightmares eerily alike for weeks afterward.

“Coincidence.”

***

Owen hated dreaming. Rarely were his dreams any good. And if they were going well, something always happened to make them not, be it waking up or whatever. Not unlike his life.

But the dreams he’d been having the last few night had been plain disturbing. Copley had killed him and Jack brought him back using the other glove he’d been whittering on about. For a fucking passcode of all things! Something Tosh could have cracked in a nanosecond. Of course it didn’t end there. No life force sucking for him, or returning to the black nothingness of death. No, Owen had the good fortune of being stuck in his very dead body.

And while it seemed zombies couldn’t make coffee, or at least he couldn’t, the Weevils loved the walking dead, bowing down before him. All right, that part had been kind of neat. However, being condemned to some sort of freakish half-life…

Shuddering, Owen downed the rest of his coffee. He bloody hated dreaming.

About to turn back to the paperwork he’d been ignoring for too long even by his standards, he stopped as Jack came striding through the Hub door, carrying a battered wooden box in his hands. In fact, Jack looked in about as good of condition as said box.

“The hell kind of trouble did you get yourself into now, Jack?” he called out.

Jack ignored Owen and disappeared into his office.

That was decidedly not good.

Gwen was still out investigating a sighting with Tosh, possibly wedding dress shopping as well. They’d had that “girl business” look about them. Either way, it meant there was no chance of sending Gwen into the lion’s den to find out what Jack was up to.

Ianto wandered down from the kitchen, a curious look on his face. “Was that Jack?”

Frowning at Jack’s office, Owen replied, “Yeah, that was Jack. Looked like he decided to take on a pack of razor blades and lost.”

“He was wearing his coat, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Damn, I just had it cleaned.” Ianto shrugged. “Did he say anything?”

“Not a word. Didn’t know he was out until he came in.”

“That’s not good.” Ianto stared thoughtfully at the office that still showed no sign of Jack.

“At least you’re learning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that the more tight-lipped Jack is about something, the less any of us is going to like the answer when we do get it.” Owen then added, “He was also carrying an old wooden box under his arm.” A box that bore an uncanny resemblance to the one he’d seen in his dreams. “It’s the other Risen Mitten,” he concluded with a groan.

“What is?”

Why else would Jack be all…Jack? “Jack found the other glove.”

Ianto paled. “Fucking Jack, I told him—” He cut himself off, lips thinning into a fine, hard line.

“Yeah, and when has Jack ever really listened to any of us? He sets his mind to something, there’s no stopping him.”

“Oh, there are ways.” The tone alone would have been enough to make Owen feel uneasy. As for the look on his face… Ianto was halfway to Jack’s office before Owen got up to follow.

***

“I should have known,” Ianto muttered, throwing open the office door. “Jack! Where the hell are you?”

Jack’s head popped up out of the floor, followed by the rest of his body. He smiled brightly. “You called?”

“I told you no, Jack.”

“Public sex? You can’t blame a guy for trying.”

Ianto growled in frustration. “The glove, Jack. I told you no.”

“You did,” Jack acknowledged.

“But you went ahead and got it anyway.”

“It’s safer here at Torchwood than out there.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it,” Owen said from the doorway. “All things considered, the world is safer if that damned glove isn’t with Torchwood.”

“This is rare, the two of you siding together,” Jack said, blue eyes glinting coldly. “Last time that happened, I wound up getting shot three times.”

Ianto didn’t like the pained look that crossed Owen’s face, but he liked his reaction to it even less. Instead of thinking too much on either, he turned back to Jack. “We did what we thought we had to. If Owen hadn’t shot you when he did, I would have done it, eventually.”

“But you turned out to be wrong in the end.”

“At least we tried to fix our mistakes,” Owen said quietly.

Jack looked past Ianto to Owen. “We need to know why Ianto came back.”

“No, we don’t,” Ianto stated. “Whatever my reasons were, it’s done. And the world isn’t falling apart because of it.”

“And we don’t know what that particular glove can do,” Owen pointed out. “Do you want to condemn Ianto to some sort of half-arsed existence if things go wrong?”

Lead settled in Ianto’s stomach. Those similar dreams seemed less and less coincidental. “What are you going to do if the future me doesn’t go back to being dead, Jack? Much as I’m sure you’d love to have two of me around, it can only lead to trouble.”

“Mm, I won’t say the thought doesn’t appeal to me.” Jack sobered. “But I know the risks. Better than any of you.”

“Then destroy the glove.” Owen had their full attention. “If you really understand the risks, then destroy the glove before something can go wrong.”

“After we get our answers.”

“What if I won’t talk?” Ianto asked. “What then? Will you still destroy the glove?”

Jack nodded. “You have my word.”

Ianto knew better than to believe him. Hopefully he could get his hands on the glove before Jack could use it. And if not, he’d sure as hell destroy it immediately after. Even if he had to take out Jack to do it.

“I still vote no,” Owen spoke up.

“Noted.” Jack frowned. “But this isn’t a democracy.”

“Might save us some trouble if it was.” Owen walked out.

“Ianto?”

“You’ll do what you want, Jack. You always do.” Ianto leaned in close to Jack, lips brushing his ear. “But that glove will be destroyed. One way or another.”

He left Jack’s office. Knowing Jack, that glove would be locked up tight when not in his direct sight. Meaning that unless Ianto was very lucky, his only chance to destroy the glove would be after Jack used it on Ianto’s future self.

Fuck.


	8. Turning the World Upside-Down and None the Wiser

Consciousness has never been this painful or this sudden. Dunked in ice, electrocuted, and slammed into a brick wall. It still doesn’t come close to how Ianto feels in that moment.

His eyes slam open, brilliant light momentarily blinding him. Blinking takes great effort. So heavy and numb, everything. It’s like his body has been dipped in Novocain.

Finally able to focus, he sees Jack standing over him, other people indiscernible on the fringes. But the lights…he’s on the autopsy table.

“God damn you, Jack Harkness,” is the first coherent thing he manages to say. Copley shot him instead of Owen; Ianto died in Owen’s place. Everything went exactly as Ianto had planned. Jack shouldn’t be able to use the glove on him because he shouldn’t be here. If he had fixed things…

“Ianto, we don’t have much time,” Jack speaks calmly, evenly. The same tone and voice he used with so many of Suzie’s victims.

He should have known Jack would try to bring him back. Jack would want to know why.

“I can’t tell you the future, Jack.” How much of the two minutes remains? Or will his time still keep going like Owen’s had, leaving Ianto a walking, talking corpse in his place? Ianto looks around the table, figures resolving into the people he came back to save. Owen, Tosh, even Gwen. Himself. God, he looks so young. “You have to destroy the glove before it’s too late.”

“Thirty seconds,” his younger self calls out.

He longs for the dark nothingness he had been dragged out of and is so afraid that he will be trapped here, like Owen was. A walking dead man.

“Please,” he begs, eyes locked on Jack’s, “if you ever really cared for me, Jack, destroy the fucking glove now.”

“How do you know you haven’t made things worse?”

Ianto starts laughing.

“Ten seconds.”

“Ianto.” Jack is so intense that Ianto laughs even harder.

Only when the monitor flatlines does he finally stop.

***

“He’s gone,” Owen announced.

The first time he murdered Jack, he had acted on impulse and been horrified after. He was a doctor. He didn’t kill people. Now, nothing would satisfy him more than to wrap his hands around Jack’s neck and strangle the life out of the man. Then do it again when he came back. And several times thereafter.

He glanced over at Ianto—the alive, present Ianto, and decided that death might be too good for Jack Harkness. The glove was wrong. The dead should stay dead. Bringing a person back for a few short minutes to get “answers” or whatever bullshit reason you could justify it with…no. Owen couldn’t imagine a worse kind of hell. And doing that to someone you supposedly cared for? What did that mean for the rest of them?

Pale but stoic, as always, Ianto spoke in a cold, clear voice. “Jack, remove the glove.”

Jack didn’t move.

“Ianto, what—” Tosh gasped.

Ianto’s hand was steady, the gun in it undeniable and extremely deadly. And he pointed it directly into the center of Jack’s head.

“Remove the glove. Or I will.”

“We’re all under strain here, Ianto.” Gwen sounded just like a cop talking a jumper down. “Give Jack a moment and I’m sure…” Her words died off.

Ianto had eyes only for Jack. “I never should have let you use it. But you should have known better. You saw what it did to those people Suzie killed, what it did to Suzie. How it almost killed Gwen. Remember that, Jack?”

Gwen turned slightly green. Owen knew for a fact Gwen hadn’t forgotten, that she still had nightmares. And she had done her best to talk Jack out of using the glove. But Jack wouldn’t listen to any of them.

“You have until the count of three.”

Jack didn’t move.

“One.”

Jack’s eyes darted to Owen, then back to Ianto.

“Two.”

One thousand.

“Three.”

Bull’s-eye, down went Jack. But Ianto only fired the once. On the mark with cold precision. Not unlike how he had shot Owen to keep him from activating the Rift machine.

“There are days you scare the living piss out of me, mate,” Owen said.

Ianto didn’t exactly smile, but it was close. He walked over and crouched down next to Jack, tugging the glove from his hand. He then got to his feet and placed it on the top step leading out of the bay.

“Cover your ears,” he warned, firing a split second later.

One more temptation effectively destroyed.

The four of them stood there in the ringing silence, waiting.

“And Torchwood fucks up again.”

They looked at each other, then down at Jack, still dead to the world.

The dead Ianto opened his eyes and propped himself up. The monitor still read flatline. His gaze moved over each of them in turn, almost apologetic when it settled on Owen. At last, Ianto looked at Ianto.

“I think I scare the piss out of myself.”

Torchwood certainly had fucked up again. Big time.


	9. A Well-Adjusted Mess

“You can’t hide down here forever.”

Ianto glanced back at Owen, frowned, then returned to his filing. “Oh, you would be surprised.”

And he wasn’t down here hiding from the consequences of his actions. Jack was fine, as always, and Ianto didn’t regret what he had done. He wasn’t hiding, period. He just needed some time alone with a mindless task to…process everything.

“How am I doing?”

Owen leaned against a cabinet. “Aside from being dead, future you is doing well. All things considered.”

“Any craving for brains?”

“Not yet. But it’s probably just a matter of time.”

Ianto made a noncommittal noise.

Reaching over, Owen slammed the drawer shut. “You, on the other hand, are within spitting distance of a breakdown.”

“Really.”

“Yes.”

“Sorry, Dr. Harper, but your diagnosis is incorrect.” Ianto sidestepped Owen to another set of cabinets.

“So you’re perfectly fine with seeing what your future holds? No problems at all with knowing you’ll be shot and brought back to walk around in a dead, mutilated body.”

“Martha at least made the effort to close the autopsy wound decently. Working or not, my insides will stay inside.”

“That only happened once,” Owen growled. “And the body was in such a state of decay, it was a wonder that any of it was holding together enough for me to do an autopsy in the first place. Besides, the dead generally don’t come back to care.”

Ianto smiled. “I see I touched a nerve.”

“Fuck you, Ianto.”

Closing the drawer he’d just opened, Ianto faced Owen. “Are you going to hit me next? That’s how this works, isn’t it?”

“Fuck you.”

“What are you so angry about, Owen? I’m the one who shot Jack. I’m the one who’s going to wind up a zombie. What’s your problem?” If anyone should be upset here, it should be him. But he was fine. Mostly.

Owen threw up his hands. “I should have sent one of the girls. Never mind.” He headed for the door.

Finally, it all made sense. “You feel guilty, don’t you? That’s what this is about.”

His only response was a snort. “Right.”

“I am, though.” Ianto closed the distance between them, grabbing Owen’s shoulder and shoving him back against the door. “You think that should be you up there.”

Owen’s eyes narrowed and he bared his teeth. “Back off, Ianto.”

“Meaning that I am right.” Ianto laughed without humor.

Instead of lashing out or denying it further, Owen slumped against the door with a heavy sigh. “Every fucking night since Copley fired that gun, I’ve been dreaming about it, and what comes after. I died, Jack brought me back, and I get stuck.”

Ianto continued for him. “Then Martha nearly dies, you fight death, and go off the deep end for awhile. You break your own finger at one point.”

Owen just stares at him.

“If we asked Tosh and Gwen, I’m certain they might be able to tell us some of the same things. Or not. They never really had the dreams we did after that trip to the Himalayas.”

“That was just coincidence,” Owen dismissed, though it was more perfunctory than anything else.

“You’ve been with Torchwood how many years now, and you still believe in coincidence?”

“Well, what else am I supposed to believe, Ianto? The alternative is insane.” He crossed his arms defensively.

“We have a dead man walking around upstairs, and you’re telling me a different course of events happening before this is insane?”

“There aren’t second chances. History doesn’t get rewritten. It just can’t.”

“And I can’t believe you’re being so narrow-minded. No,” Ianto smirked, “that I can believe. What I don’t get is that you’re trying to delude yourself. You’re a bastard, Owen, but not an idiot.”

Owen thumped his head on the door. “It’s a wonder it takes so long for us to go mental working here.”

“Probably because most of us are mental before we join,” Ianto said dryly.

“Is that so?”

“Most of us. Myself not included.”

“Of course.” Owen’s lip curled in an all too familiar sneer. “You’re perfectly well adjusted, aren’t you, Ianto Jones?”

“Yes.” Unlike Owen, Ianto was very good at lying to himself. But it was the only way to survive some days.

Owen pushed off the door, bringing them toe to toe. “Just so I have this straight. I’m a mess, you’re well-adjusted, and we’re both fine with everything going on up there.”

Ianto nodded. “Yes.”

“Good, so this is going to make perfect sense, then.”

Ianto didn’t even get a chance to wonder what Owen meant before Owen kissed him. It was hard and inelegant, much like Owen himself. When Owen started to pull away, Ianto grabbed hold of him, opened his mouth, and showed Owen a much better way of starting this. He never would have initiated this, but he couldn’t say the thought had never crossed his mind. It made a certain amount of sense, especially now when everything was so fucked up, even by Torchwood standards. Owen was a mess, but he was straight forward and uncomplicated compared to Jack. Owen was exactly what he needed.

Owen responded with a bit more finesse, jarring Ianto from thoughts he didn’t need nor want, and reversed their positions.

Ianto groaned. This was such a very bad idea. And exactly what he needed. What they both needed.

Running his fingers through Owen’s short hair, he finally gained purchase and was better able to guide Owen.

Owen caught Ianto’s bottom lip between his teeth. “I should have known you’d run the show.”

“Someone has to.” And then he spun, pinning Owen to the door again. “Much better.”

They kissed wetly, with too many teeth and a lot of tongue, nails digging in as they tried to claw their way into each other. Owen worked Ianto’s trousers open first, pushing him away just enough to drop to his knees, dragging the material down with him. Ianto soon learned beyond a shadow of a doubt that Owen’s mouth was good for something.

Owen swallowed Ianto’s cock in one motion, lips wrapping around as he took Ianto all the way in, then all the way back up, almost off but stopping and teasing the head mercilessly with his tongue. If Ianto had ever had any doubts about Owen’s experience with other men, they would have been quickly discarded. But he never did doubt, had seen quite of bit of CCTV footage in support. That didn’t mean he still wasn’t very pleasantly surprised at Owen’s skill. Jack was right about one thing, only a man could give truly great head.

And Jack was the last person he wanted to think about. Jack fucking Harkness who always thought he knew what was best.

“Faster,” he told Owen, hips pumping in time to Owen’s mouth.

Owen complied, fingers digging into the muscles of Ianto’s ass, gripping hard enough to leave bruises. Bruises were good. Bruises meant he was alive, different to that corpse upstairs.

He came with a “Fuck…Owen” and Owen swallowed, drawing on Ianto’s cock until it finally softened.

“God damn,” he breathed, staring down at Owen.

Owen was smug. “See what you’ve been missing?”

Ianto thwapped the side of Owen’s head. “Wanker.”

“I’m very good at that, too.” Owen got to his feet, sliding up Ianto’s body as he did.

Stepping back, Ianto tugged up his trousers, refastening them. “I suppose this means I owe you.”

With a shrug, Owen wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb, then licked it clean. “That’s your choice.”

The knock at the door startled them both.

“Are you two all right?” Tosh asked. “Gwen’s afraid you might have killed each other.”

“I am not!”

Oh, great, both of them. At least there weren’t cameras down here. Ianto had taken care of that a long time ago.

“No, Owen managed to talk some sense into me,” Ianto told her.

Owen snorted, mouthing, “Talk. Right.”

“Owen?” Gwen this time.

“Yes, Gwen,” Owen replied. “We’re both alive and in one piece. Believe it or not, Ianto and I are capable of behaving like civilized people around each other.”

Ianto rolled his eyes.

“Well, we just got worried,” Gwen said. “You are okay, though, aren’t you, Ianto?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” He nudged Owen away from the door and opened it. “See, still in one piece.”

“I am, too,” Owen said, appearing on his other side. “If you cared.”

“Of course we care,” Tosh teased. “Ianto is bigger than you after all.”

“That remains to be seen.” Owen slipped past Ianto and headed back toward the Hub proper.

Tosh and Gwen looked to Ianto for an explanation.

He just shrugged in response, praying that that even if he was blushing, the light was bad enough that they wouldn’t notice.  
 ****


	10. Everything's Fine

“At least the glove was destroyed before Death could start to come over. That’s something.” Ianto picks up one of Jack’s many knick-knacks and considers it for a moment. The object is metallic, so it should feel smooth and cool to the touch. All he can feel is the very distant sensation of holding something. Beyond that… He sets it back down. Now he understands why Owen went crazy there for awhile right after. But Ianto feels almost like he did after the Cybermen attacked Canary Warf. Numb, cut off, walking through dream…

“Ianto.”

He returns his attention to Jack. “Yes?”

“Would you sit down? Please?”

Ianto realizes that he is wandering in more ways than one. He sits in the chair in front of Jack’s desk. “Happy?”

“No.”

“I’ve told you as much as is safe for me to say, Jack. Any more than that will have to wait.”

“But events are already happening differently for us than they did for you.”

“To some extent. But seeing as I’m here having this conversation with you, they aren’t different enough.”

Jack growls in frustration. “You came back to change things. Sharing what you know will only help you accomplish your goal.”

“Or give you enough information to set things right, as you see it.” Leaning across the desk, Ianto drops his voice. “I’ve learned a lot about you in the time I come from, Jack, what you did while you were a Time Agent. Both from you and Captain John. Which means I know you are the last person who should be lecturing me on what I should and should not do.”

“It makes me the perfect person.”

“Face it, we’re at an impasse. You know how stubborn I can be, and how very good I am at doing what needs to be done.” Ianto stands again. “But if you really wanted to guarantee that I don’t muck about with things, shoot me in the head, put me out of this… existence you’ve forced me into.”

Jack doesn’t meet his gaze. “You know I won’t do that.”

“You’d be smart if you did.” Ianto starts to open the office door and sees the others returning from the basement. Owen is disheveled, but Ianto’s younger self is impeccable as always, perfectly at home in the suit he wears. He glances down at the jeans and sweatshirt they found for him to wear, the clothes he is at home in now and has been for years. Putting on that suit to come back here was as much stepping back in time as stepping back in time was. Another life, another person. Seeing that life again, he misses it more than anything.

He faces Jack again. “That team you’ve got down there—Gwen, me, Tosh, Owen—I know we’re not your first, and we won’t be your last. But there’s something damned important about the four of us. And I’m going to do everything I can to keep them alive and whole.”

“Even if it upsets time enough to risk the universe?”

Ianto laughs. “Time is always changing, Jack, and the universe is still here. But yes, I’m willing to take that risk. I care about those people down there, and so do you.” Now he opens the door. “Who knows, Jack? Maybe this was what was meant to happen all along.”

***

“So, which one makes the coffee?”

Both Iantos glared at Owen.

Owen grinned. “I’m serious! Someone has to.”

“No one touches my machine but me,” his Ianto said finally.

His Ianto. That certainly had new connotations. He’d always considered giving Ianto a roll, but first there’d been Suzie, then Gwen. And Ianto wound up with Jack. Though Jack didn’t keep his hands off you, you did keep your hands off what was Jack’s.

“Yes.” Owen cleared his throat. “But which you would that be?”

“Me me. He’s, well…”

“Dead, for one,” the other Ianto finished for him. “And from experience, I can assure you, dead men make shit coffee.”

“Still, you’re Ianto Jones, king of coffee. Maybe you should at least give it a go.”

“Owen, please leave me alone,” Ianto said.

“You you or him you?” Owen knew he was walking on thin ice at the moment, but after the encounter with Ianto in the archives, he felt giddy.

“Owen,” Gwen growled. “Can you save the pick on the Iantos game for later?”

“Iantos? That just sounds,” Tosh ducked her head, “weird.”

“That’s a good point, Tosh,” Gwen stated. “We can’t keep calling them both Ianto. It’s bound to get confusing.”

“They’re easy enough to tell apart. One has a heartbeat, the other doesn’t.” They all looked at Jack.

Someone had come back to life on the grumpy side, hadn’t they? But even Owen could keep that comment to himself.

“Telling us apart isn’t the issue.” The other Ianto sounded bored. “Though if you want an easy way out, one of you can just shoot me in the head, then you’ll have just one Ianto to worry about.”

“We don’t even know if that would work,” Tosh pointed out. “Is it really possible to kill someone who’s already dead? It’s very likely you would still be a…whatever you are, just with a, um, extra hole in your head,” she finished quietly. “I think I’m going to shut up now.”

“That’s disturbing, Tosh,” Owen said. “But you might be on to something. We don’t know how far the glove’s protection extends. No body functions or signs of decomp. Any damage done post-mortem is permanent but doesn’t seem to affect him.”

“No one is shooting anyone,” Jack stated. “However, for the sake of argument, a bullet to the brain will disable just about anything that I have ever run across.”

“It is the most effective way to kill zombies.” Gwen blushed and looked at the other Ianto. “Sorry. Rhys is just a big fan of horror movies.”

The other Ianto shrugged. “I am technically a zombie.”

“And I would really like to wake up soon,” Ianto moaned. “Can we move past talk of shooting and zombies and figure out what we are going to do with me? Him? Whatever?”

Jack frowned, drumming his fingers on the table. “Confining him to the Hub is a given.”

“It’s not confinement if I already chose to stay here,” the other Ianto said dryly. “I really have no desire to run amok in Cardiff. However, if you meant confining me as in locking me up in one of those cells downstairs, you have another thing coming.”

“You aren’t in a position to make demands.”

“No, a demand was me telling you to stop using the glove before it was too late. This is a helpful bit of advice. Unless you enjoy having a pack of riled Weevils on your hands.” His smile was almost chilling. “That’s it. You can call me the King of the Weevils.”

“No one is calling you King Anything,” Owen said.

“Well,” Ianto gave him an innocent look, “you did call me the coffee king earlier.”

“Shut it.”

“Enough.” Jack slammed his hand on the conference table. “We’re all exhausted and this is getting ridiculous. Ianto from the future remains here at the Hub with me, and the rest of you go home.” Shoving his chair back, he got up and left the conference room, ending the discussion.

Finally they all got up as well.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Gwen asked the other Ianto. “I wouldn’t mind staying.”

He caught her hand and squeezed. “I’m a dead man, not a child. Plus I know how to deal with Jack.” Owen shoved that image right out of his mind. “Besides, you still have the wedding stuff to attend to.”

“Mostly done. Really, I—”

“Go home to, Rhys, Gwen.”

The other Ianto hung back while they filed out, but he grabbed Owen as he passed.

“What?” God, he did sound like a brash bastard, didn’t he? “Sorry. If it’s an apology you want, you’ve got it. We’ve worked together long enough that you know how I get. But I am sorry.”

“Take back the apology. It doesn’t suit you.”

“So what do you want?” The others were watching them while trying to look like they weren’t.

“I would do what I did again without question. You are worth saving, Owen.”

“Now you’re scaring me.”

The other Ianto looked more like his younger self for a moment when he smiled. “But what I need you to do is make certain that Gwen gets to her hen night on time this Friday. Get her to leave early, if possible. Just don’t let Jack waylay her for any reason, even if something comes up and we happen to be short staffed.”

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why, are you?”

He shook his head. “Just that I’m sure you can understand that she needs her wedding to be as normal as possible.”

“Too well.” Owen shoved down the memories that threatened to rise up. Never look back. “Good luck.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Owen was getting sick of everyone being fine.  
 ****


	11. Sex is Easy

“If Gwen isn’t having the time of her life right now, I swear to—Jesus Christ! Easy with the disinfectant, Ianto.”

Myfanwy squawked in protest.

Ianto hid his smile while he finished cleaning the bite on Owen’s arm. “Doctors really are bad patients.”

“Well, if anyone could do our job with a shred of skill, it wouldn’t be an issue.”

Pulling out the gauze, he started to wrap the wound—on Owen’s right arm, which was why Owen wasn’t tending to himself—when Owen slapped him away.

“Hit me with another splash of the antiseptic. The last thing I want is some alien infection running riot in my body.”

“Try to scream at a lower octave this time,” Ianto instructed, just managing to keep a straight face.

Owen glared at him, giving a grunt of discomfort when the antiseptic hit the bite again.

With Ianto’s future self under quarantine and Jack refusing to let him out of his sight, and then Tosh and Gwen off at Gwen’s hen night, it had been up to Ianto and Owen to track down the alien shifter terrorizing Cardiff. Considering that the only real damage from the chase was the bite to Owen’s arm, and the very dead shifter, they had gotten off pretty easy.

“The least you can do is offer to buy me a drink,” Owen said after Ianto finished.

“And why is that?”

“Well, for one, I just let you torture me for the past half hour. And, two, you are completely unscathed. With your track record, that deserves celebration.”

“That means you should pay then, doesn’t it?”

“The injured man never pays.”

Ianto sighed. He could use a drink. “All right, but I’m holding you to that the next time our roles are reversed.”

“You’re saying yes?” Owen seemed genuinely surprised.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know, I just thought, after the archives…”

“What? That I would be afraid to be alone with you again?” Ianto dropped his voice and gave Owen a quick once over. “That you might take advantage of me?”

“When you put it like that,” Owen snorted. “I’m just surprised things aren’t awkward.”

“If you haven’t noticed, Torchwood doesn’t leave room for awkward. Especially if Jack takes an interest in you.”

“Good point.” Owen hopped down. “At least getting wasted tonight will make Gwen’s wedding more tolerable tomorrow.”

“You’re a surlier bastard than normal when you’re hungover.”

“Ah, but I don’t plan on being hungover,” Owen corrected. “I’m going to start tonight and maintain a nice alcoholic buzz right through the end of the reception tomorrow.”

Ianto had thought things between Gwen and Owen were okay, that Owen, as much as Owen could be, was happy for her and Rhys. “Are you not as okay with Gwen getting married as you’ve been saying you are?”

“Nah, it’s what makes her happy. That’s good enough for me.” He looked past Ianto. “I’m just not all that keen on the wedding part of weddings.”

Having read everyone’s files, Ianto had a pretty good idea why Owen didn’t like weddings. But he kept his mouth shut. “Let’s go before my better sense wins out.”

***

On the third attempt, they finally made it up the stairs to Owen’s flat.

“Figures the fucking lift would be broken,” Owen grumbled, leaning heavily on Ianto. He wasn’t quite so drunk that he couldn’t manage to walk on his own two feet. Hell, they’d have navigated the stairs much easier if he had. But Ianto was warm and solid and very nice to lean on and probably wouldn’t be here with Owen right now if Owen hadn’t pretended he’d needed the assistance.

“You’re going to make me bring you coffee tomorrow, aren’t you?”

Owen shook his head, enjoying the smooth texture of Ianto’s dress shirt. Perhaps he was a bit more drunk than he thought. Had to be. No way Ianto always smelled this fantastic. Coffee and the distant echo of…patchouli. Mm.

Ianto sighed. “Keys?”

Retrieving his keys and handing them over, Owen said, “You don’t have to bring me coffee if you’re already here.”

“I’m not staying the night, Owen. Especially since you’re not going to remember any of this in the morning.”

That was worse than ice water. Owen stood upright, mostly sober. “You retconned me? Of all the fucking—”

Cutting off Owen mid-sentence, Ianto gained easy entry to his mouth. Fierce, possessive, and tasting of ale, complaining was soon the furthest thing from Owen’s mind. He whimpered in protest when Ianto finally pulled back. How pathetic.

“I knew you weren’t that drunk,” Ianto said smugly as he opened Owen’s flat door.

“That’s a hell of a way to test a bloke.” Door open, Owen pushed past Ianto inside. “Just for that, I should disinvite you.”

“The word you are looking for is uninvite. But since you never actually invited me over, you can’t rescind the invitation.” Ianto punctuated his point by kicking the door closed and throwing the lock. “And if you think I’d let you forget tonight, you’ve got another thing coming.”

“My, don’t we have a high opinion of ourselves.” Owen walked to his fridge, retrieved two bottles of water, and tossed one to Ianto.

Ianto downed half the bottle before replying. “You have no idea.”

Owen barely managed a sip of water before Ianto pulled the bottle from Owen’s hand, setting it on the island and kissing Owen again before he could protest.

Talking was a bad idea. The less they did it, the better.

By the time they finally made it to Owen’s bed, Owen was down to his shorts and Ianto had only lost his belt and shoes.

“This is hardly fair.” Owen fumbled with the buttons on Ianto’s shirt, glad that Ianto had ditched his jacket and tie back at the Hub.

“Fair is overrated.” Ianto shoved Owen to the bed and removed his clothes with an efficiency that impressed Owen. What impressed Owen even more was that Ianto just dropped his clothing to the ground. No folding or hanging up.

“Those are going to get wrinkled, you know,” Owen stated, kicking his shorts off and dragging a now naked Ianto down to join him.

“I’m not that anal, Owen.” Rolling Owen beneath him, Ianto delved in for a quick, soul-deep kiss before moving down Owen’s body, alternating tongue with the faint scratch of his stubble.

Owen arched into Ianto’s touch, trying to grab hold and guide him, but his hair defied Owen’s grip. What did it matter? Ianto was doing just fine without guidance, so Owen lay back and enjoyed it.

Though when Ianto bypassed Owen’s cock and continued on down, Owen had to protest. “Now hold on. Where do you think you’re going?”

Ianto peered up at him, blue eyes dark and promising. “You have your way, Owen, I have mine. But if you’d rather just roll me over and fuck me now…”

And miss out on seeing what Ianto could do with his mouth? “Just don’t take all bloody night.”

Chuckling, Ianto resumed his descent. By the time he made it back up to Owen’s cock, Owen could only groan in relief. And it was the last coherent sound he managed as Ianto worked him over with mouth and tongue and fingers... Jesus.

He was right. There. Then Ianto pulled away with a smug look.

It took Owen too long to register than Ianto had said something.

“I asked if you kept your supplies in your bedstand drawer like any lazy bastard would.”

“Not lazy,” Owen replied, voice strained. Fuck, so goddamned close. “Convenient.”

“Another word for lazy.” Ianto located what he was after, soon rolling on a condom and slicking his cock up.

Owen didn’t protest, just rolled over. It had been too long since he’d been fucked. “Just promise you’re going to get me off,” he mumbled into the sheets as Ianto positioned his hips.

“Owen Harper, I’m going to ruin you for other men.”

Owen wanted to tell him what a load of shit that was, but Ianto’s cock started to press inside and all Owen wanted was more. Now.

He gave himself over to the physical, the sheer pleasure of being fucked, and being with another person. Sex was always the easy part. He would worry about after after.  
 ****


	12. Morning After

Ianto knew something was wrong before he opened his eyes. It wasn’t the strange bed or the too loud thumping of his heart against his temples indicating the beginnings of a hangover. Nor was it the subtle aches of muscles that only made themselves known after a night of overexertion. In fact, that felt very right somehow. That the bed belonged to Owen and that the overexertion was partially his fault made Ianto smile. Briefly. Then the sense of something wrong came back.

Owen had a sturdy bed, extremely sturdy. Top of the line of, knowing Owen. Which meant that it had still been in good condition after everything they had done and shouldn’t currently be dipping towards Owen’s side, especially since Ianto outweighed Owen by…a bit.

Cracking an eye open, Ianto glanced over. He blinked, both eyes springing wide. “Oh, fuck.”

“You know,” Owen sighed, “I was sort of hoping we’d bypass the morning after regrets.”

“Uh…it’s not…that.” This was wrong. So very, very wrong. “Owen, how are you feeling?”

Owen squinted up at him. “Well, I was enjoying the sleep of the blissfully shagged out, until you started having your panic attack about waking up in the same bed as me. Now I can feel my hangover creeping up on me, and for that I blame you entirely.”

“But you feel fine otherwise?”

“I don’t think I ever feel fine, but, yeah, close enough. Why?”

“Nothing, just wondering.” Ianto eased out of the bed. “Go back to sleep. I’ll, um, go put the coffee on.”

Definitely the wrong thing to say as Owen was now fully awake and sitting up. Or attempting to.

“Christ, maybe I’m more hungover than I thought.” He seemed about to say something else when he finally saw what Ianto had. “What the fuck did you do to me, Ianto?”

“That is not my doing!”

“Of course it is. I sure as hell didn’t do this to myself.” Impossible though it was, Owen appeared to be trying to crawl away from himself, or more accurately the swollen mass that had replaced his abdomen. “Fuck. Tell me I’m dreaming.”

Ianto didn’t even attempt believable. “You’re dreaming, Owen.”

“A huge comfort as always, Ianto.” Lifting his hand to hover over his middle, Owen quickly dropped it back to the bedside. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you fuck me.”

“Knew?” Ianto snorted. “You were already begging me for another go before I’d finished the first time.”

“I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“Bullshit.”

Owen flopped back onto the bed. “The least you can do is go make me some coffee. I can’t face this not awake.”

“Do you have decaf?”

“Decaf? As in no caffeine? Are you insane?”

“Well, it’s just that with the—”

“If you finish that sentence, Ianto, so help me…”

Neither of them could face this without coffee.

***

“Congratulations, Owen. You’re going to be the proud father of a…thing,” Jack proclaimed. He didn’t bother to hide his amusement.

“One, I’m not going to be a father of anything, let alone a thing. Two, don’t call it a thing!” Owen’s bluster faded. “And three, this is impossible. Men can’t get pregnant. Therefore I’m dreaming. So piss off until I wake up.”

Ianto decided it was safe to intervene and walked over to Owen’s bed, handing Owen his fifth coffee of the morning. Fully caffeinated.

“Cheers.” Owen saluted him. “But I’m still never going to forgive you for this.”

“For the hundredth time. This is not my fault!” Ianto growled. “You’re the doctor. You know it’s physiologically impossible for two men to procreate.”

“Give it a few centuries,” Jack said amiably. “Besides, it could—” His face fell and he turned to Ianto. “When you called in, you said you’d stopped by here this morning and found him like this.”

“Busted,” Owen singsonged.

Jack just gaped at Ianto. “You slept with Owen?”

Owen really had a fascinating ceiling. Good condition for the age of the building and—

“Ianto, did you sleep with Owen?”

“Technically, there wasn’t all that much sleeping going on.” Owen sipped his coffee innocently.

“Stay out of this,” Jack snapped. “Ianto?”

“We’ve never been exclusive, Jack,” Ianto stated. “You don’t _do_ exclusive, remember?”

“There’s not exclusive and then there’s Owen.”

“Still here,” Owen piped up, and they both glared at him. “Fine, have your little lovers’ quarrel, I’ll just lay here like the beached whale that I currently am.”

“You don’t sleep with Owen.”

“I wasn’t aware that he was off limits.”

“I think you were. Otherwise you would have told me why you were here at Owen’s in the first place.”

Ianto gritted his teeth. “No, because it’s none of your business. I don’t ask for details on your nights out, do I?”

“That’s your choice.”

“Oh! Is that how it is? Sorry, I misunderstood and thought I had equal rights here.”

“It’s not like that, Ianto. But—”

“Oh, fuck,” Owen groaned. “The quarrel might have to wait.” He had curled up in a ball and was clutching his protruding stomach, the hard lines of his face more prominent in pain.

Ianto could tell Jack was every bit as grateful for the distraction as he was. What he didn’t much care for was how little he liked seeing Owen in pain.

***

“I can’t very well use it on myself.” Owen shoved the singularity scalpel into Ianto’s hands.

“You’re the only one who’s gotten it to work properly.”

“Once. I got lucky. You’re better than lucky.” Owen grimaced, falling back onto the autopsy table. “And I’d much rather you be the one to kill me than Jack.”

“Thanks, I think.” Ianto didn’t look at Jack as he moved into position and adjusted the dials. “Are you certain you don’t want me to at least ring Tosh?”

“Don’t you dare. She’s been looking forward to standing up in Gwen’s wedding. They both deserve a day off.”

“We could always put you in stasis until we find another way,” Jack suggested from the stairs. It was as close as Owen had allowed him to come.

“Which would mean calling Martha in to deal with the issue since I’d be out of commission. And I’d prefer she mocked me based on a secondhand account.”

That Ianto found himself agreeing with Owen’s logic showed just how fucked up the day had gotten.

“Besides,” Owen attempted to smirk up at him, “this is your fault, Ianto. Only right that you be the one to fix it.”

“It was the shifter who impregnated you, not me.” Ianto almost had the crosshairs square.

“Well, if you’d done,” Owen moaned, “a better job disinfecting, I wouldn’t be impregnated.”

As Owen’s body went rigid with pain, Ianto decided that it was now or never and activated the scalpel.

Owen screamed, then went silent and still. His stomach was no longer bulging, nor was it a gaping, bloody hole. It must have worked, then. So why wasn’t Owen moving?

Suddenly Owen’s right hand shot out, gripped the front of Ianto’s wrinkled shirt from yesterday, and pulled him close.

“Just so we’re clear. Next time, I’m fucking you.” He kissed Ianto hard and hungry. “And I think both of us have earned the right to get pissed out of our minds at the reception tonight.”

Uncertain of what else to do, Ianto kissed him back.

“Much as I love to watch,” Jack drawled, “you boys might want to consider getting cleaned up if you want to make Gwen’s wedding on time.”

“He’s got a point,” Owen grumbled, pushing Ianto back and hopping off the table. He barely caught his sweatpants before they hit the floor. He looked from Ianto to Jack, and back again. “I’ll try not to use up all the hot water.” Then he left them.

After a moment, Jack said, “So, you and Owen.”

“Me and Owen what, Jack? Fucked? Yes. Will we do it again? Probably.” Ianto smirked. “And do I care what you think? I honestly don’t.” And it was surprisingly a relief to admit that. “I’m not saying that what we had meant nothing, or that whatever Owen and I have going means anything at all. But,” he shrugged, “life’s short. And after you brought my future self back from the dead against my wishes, I don’t trust you, Jack.”

“You trust Owen?”

“More than you.” Anything else wasn’t worth saying. “And you’d better be going to the wedding as well. Don’t let Gwen down.” And he headed off to the showers.

***

Ianto joins Jack in the autopsy bay. “I certainly didn’t see that coming.”

“Owen and yourself? Who would?”

“Oh, if Owen hadn’t died, I think we would have gotten there eventually.” He sits beside Jack on the stairs. “You have no idea what we went through while you were gone. But it was good for us, as a team.”

“It wasn’t a team when I left,” Jack agrees, showing a momentary hint of regret. “And I don’t think any of you was particularly glad when I came back.”

“We needed to readjust.” Glancing off in the direction of the showers, Ianto continues. “I still think we’re readjusting. But it’s difficult when there’s no downtime and crises come back to back.”

“That’s Torchwood.”

“Yeah.”

They are silent for a moment before Jack asks, “So what didn’t you see coming?”

“Owen getting impregnated by the shifter. I assumed that with Gwen out of the way, and no female host, well…”

Jack chuckles. “But if it was going to happen to anyone, Owen definitely provides the greater amusement value.”

“I can’t argue with that.” Ianto considers Jack for a moment. “You are going to Gwen’s wedding, right?”

“Not much for weddings. Besides, gotta keep an eye on you.”

“If you’re still that paranoid,” which he has every right to be, “you can lock me up in the cells. One time offer, no argument or escape attempts.”

Jack doesn’t even pause to think about the offer. “It’s really not fair, locking you up like that. She’ll understand.”

“Of course, she’ll understand. Gwen always understands. It still doesn’t make you any less of a coward for taking any little excuse not to go.”

“I’d hardly call you little.”

“Jack.”

“I’m not big on weddings.”

“Neither is Owen, but you don’t see him backing out, do you? And he had a legitimate reason before he got knocked up.”

“Well, I suppose that settles it. Can’t have Owen showing me up.”

“Exactly.”

Finally, Jack gets to his feet. “I’m not going to lock you up. Actually, you should come along. We can pass you off as a brother or cousin. Gwen and Rhys’ families won’t know the difference.”

It is all too tempting, but he can’t go. This has all already happened for him, though the wedding should be more enjoyable for everyone this time around. And the families will get to remember it.

Jack hesitates. “Should I trust you?”

“I don’t know, Jack, should you? The offer still stands.”

“No. Considering what you’re capable of doing while I am watching you… I’ll face the consequences later.”

“Hey, Jack?”

“Yeah?” He turns back.

“Why did you put me next to Suzie? You know how she treated me.”

Jack frowns and Ianto thinks that he isn’t going to get an answer. Finally, Jack says quietly, “I like to keep my mistakes together and close at hand. As a reminder.”

While he doesn’t like it, Ianto admits the choice is very Jack. And in that context, he can accept it. “Thank you.”

Jack nods in acknowledgement and leaves him.

Frankly, Ianto is grateful to be alone for a few hours and has no plans outside enjoying the peace and quiet. He’s already taken care of everything else. Captain John and Grey aren’t due to make their appearance for a few weeks. They all needed to enjoy the quiet while they could.  
 ****


	13. End of the Road

In the end, Ianto can only change events so much. He saves the team from the warehouse trap, but the tense hours afterwards unfold too much like he remembers. Captain John still lays waste to Cardiff with his bombs and he and Grey kidnap Jack. And Ianto finds himself caught up with the others in attempting to put out too many fires while trying to figure out why. He’s been here before and he still has no answer.

When the warning comes across that the nuclear plant is going critical, he wonders if maybe he was on a fool’s errand all along. This time, however, he and not Owen is the one who gets to wade through the Weevils to shut down the reactor. If he had known, he would have read up on it. Especially since Tosh isn’t responding on the comm unit. Nearly five minutes since the gunshot. Shit. He should have told her directly, instead—

“Ianto, can you hear me? Did you make it?” Tosh’s voice comes across loud and clear and strong.

If he could cry with relief, he would. “Yes,” he finally responds, “I made it, got all the workers clear.”

“How are the readouts? Grey gave me more trouble than I expected, and it’s taking me longer to reestablish a connection.” He hears distant key clicks and a soft moan.

“Tosh? Toshiko, are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I just learned the hard way that bullet-proof isn’t bruise-proof.” She laughs. “The letter gave me flashbacks to Back to the Future though.”

“I hoped you would make that connection.”

“Does this mean I get to call you Marty from now on?”

“Only if I can call you Doc.”

“Owen’s going to be insulted, but—dammit, Ianto, I can’t get it.” All good humor drops. “I’ll have to talk you through this blind. What are the gauges reading?”

Every dial, if not in the red, is quickly heading that way. “Oh, well past not good.”

“Just ‘not good’? We can work with that.” But she sounds strained, avoiding the obvious.

There is only one option. “Tosh, I need to initiate containment procedures.”

“If you do that, you’ll be trapped, Ianto. Unless…”

“No, don’t waste time trying to find me a way out. Just talk me through this.”

“Ianto—”

“I’m dead, Tosh. I can’t be saved.” He raises his hand to scrub his face but realizes he has no hand. Then he does. Doesn’t. Does. It’s flickering in and out of existence, not unlike Marty McFly started to do when it seemed like his parents would never get together. Ianto smiles. “I’m going to be fine. We’re all going to be just fine.” His hand finally resolidifies and he flexes it a few times for good measure. “Now tell me what to do.”

Tosh takes a deep breath. “Ianto, there are days I really hate you.” She sniffles, then forges ahead. “First you need to locate…”

Ianto follows each step to the letter, ignoring the door slamming shut, locking him in, and focusing on the task at hand. This is what he needed to do. Saving Owen once wasn’t enough. How he forgot this… Now he’s managed to save Tosh as well.

“Not bad for a dead man,” he says, pushing the last button.

“Ianto, I wish—”

“It’s okay.” His hand fades away again and doesn’t return. He only has seconds now. The only question is, will the radiation hit him before time is fixed?

“I’m sorry.”

Ianto slides down to the floor, grinning the whole way. It worked. But maybe there’s one more thing he can do. “Tosh?”

“Yes, Ianto?”

“If you want to make it up to me, there is one thing you can do.”

Her laughter is tearful but genuine. “Anything, Ianto.”

“Careful, you don’t know what I’m going to ask.”

“Anything, Ianto.”

“Have Jack pull every string he has to get you a position with UNIT.” Nothing. He warned her. “You’ll never forgive yourself until you forgive them. And you can do a lot more good with UNIT than you ever could with Torchwood.”

“Ianto…”

“You said anything.” Most of his right side is gone and the radiation is creeping in.

Finally, “I promise.”

“Thank you.”

And the darkness finally reclaims Ianto Jones.


End file.
